A tiny Christmas tree stood in the corner of the lot,

Nobody even noticed it at all;

The big trees carried out by Mums and Dads and happy kids,

But this small tree was barely three feet tall.

On Christmas eve the lot closed down, another season done,

And every single Christmas tree was sold;

Except the stunted, tiny tree that nobody would buy,

Abandoned in the snowy winter cold.

Two street kids jumped the fence to see what might be left behind,

For them no joy or gifts on Christmas day;

Three years ago they’d hit the street – the last “Dad” was the worst,

Another beating, then they ran away.

The little tree was by the wall, and almost white with cold,

The boys shook off the snow, this would be good;

The old, abandoned factory that they’d been calling home

Was freezing and they needed firewood.

The next day it was Christmas and the boys woke up so cold,

The tree was in the corner faded, dead;

And then they saw the newspaper that lay there underneath,

The brothers picked it up and then they read:

“The Lottery Lady has Another Lonely Christmas Day”

A picture showed their Mother, looking sad;

And then they read of how she’d won, and how she lived alone,

Whilst pining for the sons that she’d once had.

I do not need to tell you of the happy ending here,

The Mother and two sons now family;

One question I would like to ask, dear Reader, ponder this:

Who left the paper underneath the tree?